Beau chuckles and reaches down to pick up his dog, which is frankly too big to be held. It’s got to be a good forty-five pounds, half of which is fur. “I pulled you over because your erratic driving was concerning. Can I offer some advice?”
“By all means, Officer.” I open my eyes wide and stare at him like I can’t wait to hear what he has to say. I wish I were standing so I wasn’t looking up at him, but I’d be almost a head shorter anyway. Puberty treated Beau Palmer kindly. He was always pretty lanky when we were younger, and he’s still lean, but it’s a sturdy kind of lean where you can see the muscles and tendons in his forearms feather as he pets the dog, his hand disappearing into the abyss of fur.
He nods at my shoes. “Those aren’t the best shoes for driving. Or for Sunset Harbor, really.”
“Probably about as suitable as a Chow Chow is for a K-9, huh?”
His mouth pulls into a smile—it seems like his default expression—and hot dang, the man is attractive. That’s how it goes, though, right? Money and attractiveness are highly correlated. Take the Belacourt sisters—the media darlings from thewealthiest family on Sunset Harbor. People say correlation isn’t causation, but in their case, it might be safe to say that money and beauty have a causal relationship. The rest of us aren’t ugly; we’re poor.
Beau rubs the dog’s ears. “Don’t listen to her, Xena. You’re a magnificent, vicious K-5, aren’t you?”
“K-5?” I ask, barely masking my skepticism.
“She completed about half of her K-9 training, but she didn’t have quite the right temperament for it.”
“You shock me.”
“She’s more evolved than a K-9. More dangerous, more capable.” Xena reaches up to lick under his chin, and Beau laughs. “Not helping your case here, girl. Or mine. Gemma will never take us seriously now.”
“To be fair, any intimidation I might have felt was kind of sapped by the whole golf-cart-with-a-toy-flashing-light-stuck-on-top thing.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of the golf cart.” He lets the dog down, and she hops into my cart, sniffing my heels. I can’t blame her. They’ve probably got LA sidewalk all over them.
“Lemme guess,” I say. “Dax Miller souped the cart up for you?”
“Forme?” Beau puts a hand on his chest, as though I’ve mortally offended him. “For the safety of this island.”
“Which is in such jeopardy,” I quip. “Hours must be long for you.”
He folds his arms across his chest and smiles at me. “Grueling. It’s nice to find someone who understands the pains of a part-time island cop.”
Sunset Harbor has always had low crime rates, but there are other ways people can—and do—make life here miserable. Not to mention this crazy humidity and heat. Couldn’t Grams have moved in January? “Part-time, huh? Do they give you part of a gun too?”
“Water gun,” he says, deadpanning. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “We do have holding cells at the city offices I could stick you in for the night if you need persuading that I’m not playing dress-up.”
I scrunch my nose. “Tempting, but I’ve gotta get Grams’s stuff moved over to your family’s renowned establishment.”
“Need some help?”
I scan his face, looking for the catch, but I don’t find anything. I’m just rusty after so many years away. It’ll take a few days for my jerk radar to get back up and running.
Beau and I grew up as neighbors, but given our families’ history and the year age-gap between us, I avoided him like the plague. Or as much as youcanavoid a next-door neighbor. Whenever we did interact, Beau had some smart or teasing comment to make about me or my family.
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’ve got it.”
He nods. “You need a little island tour? A refresher after being away so long?”
“Thanks, but I already remember more than I want to about this place—and the people.” I hold his gaze to be sure he catches my meaning.
He narrows his eyes slightly. “If you’re referring to the issues between our families, that’s ancient history, Gemma.”
“Is it?” Easy for him to say when his family came out on top. From winning school board seats and city council spots and community awards to convincing the island to let them build their retirement center on the land that was most important to us Sawyers, they won every battle.
“Anyway,” I continue, “I’m sure you have some urgent police business to attend to—mediating disputes over who took the last piece of pie at the diner, or rescuing cats from palm trees. I couldn’t live with myself if I got in the way of that.”
He snaps his fingers. “Cat lover. I knew it.”
I raise a brow. “Your cop-ly intuition tell you that?”
